


little songbird

by the_glare_you_see



Category: Six - Marlow/Moss
Genre: Angst, Gen, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Music, Swearing, and angry, kit's sad you guys, teen for swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:06:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27997233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_glare_you_see/pseuds/the_glare_you_see
Summary: “There!” she hoarsely exclaimed, throwing her pencil down, staring at the harsh lines that were practically carved into the paper, “there, brain are youhappy?Are yousatisfied?”Her brain, of course, didn’t respond. With a scoff, she shoved the paper into a spare folder and tucked it under her pillow, not wanting to look at it but also not wanting to throw it away. It was just going to stay there, where no one would see it, and she could continue on with her life.orKit hates music but can't seem to let it go entirely.
Relationships: Anne Boleyn & Katherine Howard, Katherine Howard & Catherine Parr
Comments: 26
Kudos: 57





	little songbird

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Reign_of_Glory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reign_of_Glory/gifts).



> i had an idea and this was born
> 
> yall don't wanna know how long i struggled with the ending lmaoo
> 
> anyway feel free to leave comments and kudos bc they make my day
> 
> stay safe yall
> 
> \- Zen

It wasn’t a secret that Kit hated music. The queens were made well aware of this when she shot down Anne’s proposal for a musical. Loudly. It was the first time she had ever raised her voice and Anne dropped it without a second thought, for the time being.

(It would occasionally pop up in conversation, but never when Kit was in the room.)

The queens quickly learned to avoid all things music-related, which was no easy feat, but they managed. Anything to avoid the pain that had been present in the youngest’s eyes on that day.

None of them knew why she was so averse to it, why sometimes she would literally move to another room if the music was louder than a murmur, but no one was willing to ask.

(They didn’t want to admit it, but the girl was terrifying when she was mad.)

\----

There was a time when Kit had enjoyed music, loved it, even. She’d had a passion for creating and telling stories through song, letting the music transport and carry the listener away on some tale of love or adventure, to provide them with an escape from their life. Because for her, music had also been an escape.

_Had._

She didn’t want to get into it but after that first music lesson, her life was just a downhill spiral from there.

Those angry drafting sessions, ‘Pencil breakers,’ as she privately called them, all started after a particularly bad bout of insomnia. The clock read 3:57 am and she was no closer to getting any sleep than she had been when she’d crawled into bed hours before. She laid there, mind swirling with faint melodies and rhymes as she stared up at the dark ceiling. The clock on her wall steadily kept time and she found herself tapping along to the beat.

_Tick, tock, tick, tock…_ the clock went, keeping its steady pace. Kit inhaled sharply as she began counting along, softly under her breath.

“Tick… tock…”

_Tick… flick, kick, mix, fix, wrist, swish—_

“Fine!” she said, tossing back her covers and swinging out of bed, “fine, fucking _fine!”_

She grabbed one of the pencils lying on her desk and sat down, flipping open a notebook and beginning to scrawl out whatever rhyme she’d managed to snag. She pressed down so hard that the paper tore, and she growled, ripping it out and trying again. Her pencil flew across the page, words messily splattered across, horribly misspelled words, slanting lines, and misshapen letters because she just needed to get the idea _out._ She didn’t know when, but at some point tears started to blur her vision and splatter onto the page, smearing some of her words and splashing across her hand.

“There!” she hoarsely exclaimed, throwing her pencil down, staring at the harsh lines that were practically carved into the paper, “there, brain are you _happy?_ Are you _satisfied?”_

Her brain, of course, didn’t respond. With a scoff, she shoved the paper into a spare folder and tucked it under her pillow, not wanting to look at it but also not wanting to throw it away. It was just going to stay there, where no one would see it, and she could continue on with her life.

\----

“I have an idea…” Anne said, “Well, actually, Cathy and I came up with it.”

They had all gathered in the living room at Anne’s rather frantic request for a family meeting. There was a slightly maniacal look in her cousin’s eyes and Kit traded a weary glance with Jane as she curled up in the corner of the couch.

“Are you going to tell us or do we have to guess?” Lina asked, from where she was standing behind the couch, next to Anna. Anne chuckled nervously and Cathy awkwardly tugged at her collar.

“See, the thing is that Kitty won’t like it,” Anne said, pouting at her.

“You don’t know that!” Kit replied, her voice cracking with offense. 

“Oh really?” Anne replied, “So if I asked you if you wanted to participate in a musical about our lives—”

“You were right, I _do_ hate it,” Kit replied, stubbornly ignoring all the ideas that leaped to the front of her mind, “Why would you even bring it up?”

“Because it’s a _brilliant_ idea!” Anne exclaimed. Kit rolled her eyes.

“Just think,” Cathy said, dramatically spreading her arms out in front of her, “We’d be able to tell _our_ stories, how we experienced our lives, and offer a newer, fresher perspective on what it was like to be his wife.”

“No one would listen,” Kit replied.

“You don’t know that!” Anne cut in, voice rising. 

Kit glared at her. “Yes, I do. No one ever listens to you if you’re not a man, that’s how the world works.”

“Maybe back then,” Anne replied, “But things are different now!”

“Well, it’s a no from me,” Kit said, uncurling herself from the couch, “The rest of you can do it but I won’t.”

“We can’t do a musical about the ‘Six Wives of Henry VIII’ without one of them!” Anne called after her, “It wouldn’t make sense!” 

Kit shrugged, throwing a middle finger over her shoulder for good measure, trekking to her room.

“That sounds like a You Problem!”

\----

The original plan was for her to write one song, then never think of it again, but here she was, crouched over her desk at who knows what hour of the morning, scratching down another song because the idea just Wouldn’t. Leave. Her. _Alone._

This was all Anne’s fault. If she hadn’t pitched the musical idea, Kit wouldn't be in this situation. She’d be asleep, most likely having a nightmare.

Ok, so maybe late-night songwriting was a step up from the terror that was her dreams but only by a small, practically minuscule amount.

She set her pencil down and glared at the paper before shoving it into her folder and tossing it under her pillow. Maybe now she'd get some actual sleep.

\----

_“Can you sing for me, my little songbird?” A rough voice asked. Kit blinked down at him, fingers clasped over her knees. He held his hands out to her with an expectant look._

_“I don’t know what to sing,” she replied, placing her hands in his after a moment of hesitation._

_“Anything you want to,” he replied and she shakily nodded, “Remember, my little songbird, it won’t hurt if you just sing.”_

_“Yes sir,” she quietly replied, forcing herself not to flinch at the callused hands on her knees. Her brain raced for a song to distract herself and she picked the first one that came to mind._

\----

Kit awoke with a start, still feeling the faint calluses of his hands scraping over her legs. She frantically scrambled out of bed, racing to the bathroom and turning the water on. She hopped in clothes and all, turning the knob so that the water was scalding. Steam rose and the bathroom quickly became foggy, making it hard for her to see anything. With shaking hands, she stripped off her pajamas, hissing softly as the water hit her skin and scrubbed. She scrubbed until her legs were numb, until her arms were sore from the constant, repetitive motion, until her skin was an angry red from the water, until she felt like his hands were _off._ Then she scrubbed some more for good measure.

Finally, she stopped, resting her head against the cool tiles and turning the water to a more manageable temperature. She breathed deeply, shutting her eyes and fighting back whatever memories threatened to surface as the water got into her nose and mouth. The steady splatter of the water against the bathroom tiles provided her with another rhythm, another beat she could rhyme to, add notes and vocalizations. Something she could make beautiful—

Kit sighed, resisting the urge to throw the soap. She turned the water off instead and grabbed one of the towels. She didn’t know whose it was, but she’d replace it later when she wasn’t in this messy limbo state of mind.

She gathered up her soaked clothes and quietly trekked back to her room, sniffling quietly. (When had she started _crying?)_

The notebook sat there, taunting her and she tossed her clothes into the hamper with a scowl. It called to her as she rifled through her drawers, pulling on another set of pajamas. 

_Come write in me,_ it seemed to say, as she wrung her hair out, attempting to quickly towel it dry. She froze, eyeing it, trying to tamp down on the urge to create. Slowly, step by step, she crept closer, dropping her towel on her nightstand, eyes never leaving the bound paper.

“Just one song,” she muttered, sitting down at her desk with a scowl. The notebook seemed to smile up at her, seemed to open with ease, and welcome her onto its blank pages. She traced over the indents that had appeared due to the first two Pencil Breakers and sighed.

“It means nothing, I still hate you,” she said aloud, flipping the notebook off for good measure, “And music is overrated anyway.”

(If she stayed up until someone came knocking on her door, calling her for breakfast, well that was her business and it wasn’t like she particularly _enjoyed_ the songwriting process. No, she still hated it. And music. That was never going to change.)

\----

Quiet nights were something of a rarity in the queens’ household. Everyone was off doing their own thing, quietly for once, and Kit had managed to claim Cathy as her human pillow for the night. Cathy was watching one of those stupid YouTube videos, and Kit had her face half nuzzled into the writer’s shoulder, dozing off to Cathy’s even breaths. 

She felt the final queen moving slightly and pouted. “Cath, stop moving,” she grumbled, eyes squeezed shut. 

Cathy chuckled. “Hold on, there’s something under my shoulder.” She wiggled around more and Kit whined, weakly whacking her in the stomach in a pathetic attempt to get her to stay still.

“Oh, shush you,” Cathy said and booped her nose. Kit wrinkled her nose and fell against the pillows in defeat when Cathy sat up. She cracked open an eye, the blurry figure of Cathy slowly coming into focus.

“Come back,” she said, making grabby hands at her. Cathy grabbed one of her hands and swung them back and forth as she pulled out a paper. Kit’s other eye flew open and she saw the worry spreading over Cathy’s face. She sat up with a jolt and snatched the paper out of Cathy’s hands. Cathy’s head jerked up, meeting her eyes.

“Kit?” she asked, voice laced with confusion.

“Get out,” Kit replied quietly. Cathy slowly climbed off the bed, brows furrowed.

“Kit, what—”

“Just _leave,”_ Kit replied, her voice now rough with unshed tears and anger, “Get out!”

Cathy hurried out of the room, shutting the door softly behind her and Kit sank back against the wall. She stared down at the paper in her hands and scowled, reading the lyrics.

_All you wanna do, all you wanna do babe, is touch me. When will ENOUGH be_ _ENOUGH,_ _see?_

In one quick motion, she tore it in half, then in half again, as her chest heaved for breath and her heartbeat rang loudly in her ears. She stopped when the pieces were all scattered around her bed, too small to tear anymore. Her face felt hot and clammy and she gripped the sheets tightly, trying to ground herself.

When would enough be enough, indeed?

\----

A soft knock on her door startled her out of her daze and Kit shoved the carefully taped together draft that she had been staring at into her folder and shoved said folder under her pillow. She shuffled over, rubbing at her burning eyes, and cracked her door open. Cathy stood on either side, a tray with a plate of crepes and two glasses of orange juice clutched in her hands.

“Hi,” she whispered, “I… got Jane to wake up earlier and make the crepes.”

Kit raised a brow.

“...I poured the orange juice though if that counts?”

Kit rolled her eyes and opened her door further, letting Cathy step inside.

“Put it on the desk,” she sighed, rubbing at her eyes once more. Her throat felt dry and scratchy and she snagged one of the glasses that were on the tray and took a sip. Cathy shook her head with a small smile and set it on the desk.

“You get first pick,” Cathy said, taking a small step back. Kit rolled her eyes and grabbed one of the forks. They ate in silence, with the occasional awkward laugh before Kit set her fork down.

“You, um, left your phone in here last night,” Kit said, jerking her chin at the nightstand. 

“Oh,” Cathy replied, getting up and pocketing her phone, “Thanks.”

They both pretended not to notice the corner of Kit’s folder sticking out from under her pillow. Cathy sat back down and awkwardly finished her juice, stacking up everything into an organized pile on the tray.

“Well, I’m going to… put these in the sink,” she said, meeting Kit’s eyes for a split second before picking up the tray.

“Cathy, wait,” Kit said, grasping her arm gently, “I’m sorry that I snapped at you, it wasn’t fair.”

Cathy shrugged. “It’s ok, I shouldn’t have invaded your privacy like that.”

Kit stood up and grabbed the folder, turning to Cathy with a look of apprehension on her face.

“If—” she stopped and tried again, “Music was—” she sighed, slamming the folder onto her forehead and letting out a groan.

Cathy waited patiently as Kit slowly formed her words.

“I used to love music,” Kit said, face hidden behind the folder, “I would never stop singing, humming, dancing to tunes… but I was young and so fucking _stupid.”_

“Kit—”

“I should’ve seen it coming, I should’ve known that of _course_ he didn’t want to help me. None of them did. They just wanted one thing and—”

A sob broke loose and Kit was surprised to feel tears running down her face.

“When I came back, just the very thought of it was enough to make my stomach churn. You know he used to call me his ‘little songbird’? He always wanted me to sing, even when he was—” she broke off again, knowing that if she continued she’d end up diving for a trashcan.

“Oh gosh, Kit,” Cathy replied, vaguely sounding like she was going to hurl. Kit regretted eating as the crepes and orange juice swirled around in her stomach. She didn’t even know who she was talking about at this point, they were all blending together.

“I hate it, Cathy, I hate it so much and I hate that I’m writing these fucking songs because all I can think of is them and it’s just so _tiring.”_

She threw the folder on the floor, pages scattering out and making a mess across the carpet. Cathy stooped down, gathering up the pages gently.

“It feels good in the moment, to be creating, to be able to pen down my thoughts but after,” Kit shuddered, wiping at her face, “After is when the memories begin. I want to burn them all, just tear them to shreds, toss them into a fire and watch them _burn.”_ she paused and Cathy raised a brow.

“But?” the writer prompted, now piling the drafts into a neat stack. Kit sighed loudly.

“But I also love them too much to part with them so I’m stuck in this fucking cycle of writing and hating and crying and… and it sucks. I can’t think of a better comparison, it just fucking sucks!”

Her words rang through the room and Kit watched as Cathy finished stacking her drafts, her hands gentle and methodical with a contemplative look on her face.

“You’re a creator, Kit,” she finally said. Cathy locked eyes with her, smiling softly, and Kit sniffled, “It’s a part of you. The more you push it away, the more it comes back and it comes back with a vengeance.”

She tucked the songs back into the folder and held it out to her. Kit scoffed, taking the folder and setting it on her bed.

“Being a creator sucks,” she said. Cathy held out her arms in a silent offer and Kit shuffled into them, burying her face in the soft shoulder of her hoodie, and just breathed.

“It does suck, but we’re going to do the best we can to help,” Cathy said, hugging her tightly, “If you’d let us.”

For a moment, Kit didn’t reply but Cathy felt a small nod into her shoulder. “Ok,” she whispered, “I’d like that.”

\----

_You’re a creator…_ Cathy’s words rang in her head and Kit swallowed, clutching the folder to her chest. Last night’s Pencil Breaker was a long one and she’d finally given into the urge to just let her brain run free. She tugged on her choker once before rapping sharply on the door in front of her. 

“Uh— just a second!” Anne called. Kit heard several thumps from behind the door, along with some muffled curses in a mix of French and English, before Anne’s head poked through the door. Kit nudged the door open further and stepped inside, immediately rolling her eyes when she spotted Lina nonchalantly attempting to fix her shirt.

“What’s up, dear cousin of mine?” Anne asked, clearing her throat and leaning against her dresser.

“I, um…” Kit glanced at Lina nervously and the Spaniard got the hint.

“I’m going to go see what Jane’s up to,” she said with a grin, sliding off the bed and planting a quick kiss on Anne’s cheek. Kit waved, an awkward smile plastered across her face. The door clicked shut and Anne turned to face her.

“Kitty, are you ok?” Anne asked, concern now visible on her face. 

Kit nodded. “Not yet but… I will be.” She inhaled deeply, steeling herself. “Are you and Cathy still planning out that musical?”

Anne’s mouth dropped open and she blinked. “Um, I mean—’

“Because I have several ideas for some songs and I drafted them out last night, or really, I drafted the first one a while ago but—’

“Woah, slow down,” Anne said, holding her hands out. Kit clamped her mouth shut, gripping the folder tighter. Anne looked at her in disbelief. “You’re saying you want to do the musical?”

Kit shrugged. “I might change my mind later but right now, yes, I do.”

The grin on Anne’s face grew into a huge smile and she whooped, surging forward and swinging Kit around in a bear hug. Kit yelped, trying her best not to hit anything in the room as Anne spun.

“I _knew_ you’d come around!” Anne exclaimed with a delighted laugh. She set her down and grabbed a green binder that was seated on her desk. “Come on, we need to plan!”

Kit watched as Anne ran out of the room, calling for a family meeting. She looked down at the folder once more, allowing a small smile to form. For the first time, she felt free, as if a weight had been lifted off her chest and she could finally breathe.

“Hey,” Cathy said, poking her head into the room, “Anne’s going to lose it if you don’t start moving.”

Kit laughed. “She’ll live,” she replied, following Cathy down the hall.

\----

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts?
> 
> scream at me on tumblr: [@judging-seahorse](https://judging-seahorse.tumblr.com/)
> 
> lmao okie baii
> 
> edit: asdjf;l i cant belive i forgot- um special thanks to Reign_of_Glory for helping my out, you're the best my dude ily <3


End file.
